Jungian
by Fabulist
Summary: A companion story to "Freudian."  Rapunzel struggles with therapy, pines for Flynn, puzzles over vegetables, and paints the town red.  Literally.
1. Chapter 1

**AN - This is a collection of shorts about Rapunzel from my story, _Freudian_. These will not make sense if you haven't read _Freudian_. However, you do not need to read these to understand _Freudian_. These are just for fun. I might not even write them in order. In fact, they might even confuse you because they might not all fit. Two very different people probably would have two very different perceptions of reality, right? Think of this as fanfiction of fanfiction. Yes.**

**This short takes place not long after _Freudian_ chapter 12. But before Flynn reaches out to Rapunzel again.**

**Also, since for some reason I don't like putting AN's on Freudian, I'm gonna get all my announcements out here.**

**Cyril made a tumblr dedicated to Freudian, with tons and tons of amazing fanart, cosplay, etc. You should check it out! freudianfans dot tumblr dot com .**

**And, I made a Rapunzel roleplay tumblr. It's finallygotalife dot tumblr dot com . TheSmokinSmolder is my Flynn and Airplane is my Pascal and it's a big party! You should come.**

**Okay! Thanks for reading!**

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><p>"Hey, Sweetie! Come on in! How was your week?"<p>

Rapunzel took her usual seat, forcing a smile and swallowing down her anxiety. She didn't usually mind therapy. Sometimes she even liked it - it was a place to say weird things, and sad things, and hard things, without worrying about burdening people. Sometimes she even got good advice.

But other times it opened doors that were best left closed. They'd stumble upon something locked inside her that, once unearthed, caused her more pain than she knew what to do with. They always seemed to run out of time right when she was most vulnerable, and then she was cast out into the world again, raw and helpless, to deal with it on her own until the next week.

At least she had Flynn. Between work and him, she didn't have a lot of time to think about what was plaguing her. And he always made her laugh, and let her talk when she had to, and let her be silent when she needed that instead. And there was something about his presence, something that made her feel safe.

But then, she didn't really have him anymore. She never did. How much of their relationship had she invented?

She could feel her throat closing up at the thought and swallowed, taking deep, even breaths. Totally not good to _start_ therapy in tears.

Dr. Jones tilted her head, frowning sympathetically. "Not so great? What happened?"

Rapunzel took a drink from the glass of water Dr. Jones offered her, trying to explain what had happened without getting too emotional about it. "Um... well..." she rushed out the rest before her voice could crack. "I don't think Flynn and I are friends anymore."

Rapunzel knew that Dr. Jones didn't like Flynn, but she gave the therapist credit for looking legitimately sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know he was important to you."

"_Is_ important to me. Just because he doesn't like me doesn't mean he stops being important."

"Of course not. _Is_ important. Why do you think he doesn't like you? What happened?"

As Rapunzel had spent the days since the disaster playing it over and over again in her head, it was easy to recall. "I... uh... we kissed. And... he didn't like it. He got really upset."

Dr. Jones sat up a little straighter, her thin lips pressed into a straight line. "He kissed you?"

If only that were it. If only he'd just leaned over and kissed her, just because he wanted to, just because he wanted her, just like she'd fantasized he would. Was it so wrong that she wanted that? Was it really such a bad thing?

Rapunzel sighed, pushing the toe of her sneaker into the carpet. "Not exactly. I paid him to kiss me. He'd kept avoiding it other ways, and I knew other women did that, so I tried it."

Dr. Jones raised an eyebrow. "He _charged_ you?"

"No, it was my idea. He didn't even like the idea, he wouldn't take my money. But I just kept pushing him."

Scoffing, Dr. Jones shook her head. "Trust me, you can't push Flynn Rider into anything. He's his own man, and he does whatever he wants. Whatever happened, I can guarantee it was his fault."

Rapunzel was silent. Dr. Jones was biased against Flynn. It was true that Flynn was his own person, and generally he did do what he wanted to do, but Rapunzel couldn't help but feel that he was different around her, that he cared enough about her to be impacted, at least a little, by what she said and did. Or maybe that was delusional again. She wanted so badly to have some kind of influence in the world, why not dream she mattered to Flynn Rider, the most untouchable person she'd ever met? Hilarious. Truly, laughable.

"Rapunzel, I mean it. You can't beat yourself up about this. It sounds like he manipulated you into some twisted exchange, and then lashed out at you. He's been cruel to you from the start."

It was hard to argue when she couldn't trust her own memory or perception, but that just felt _wrong_ to her. "No, that's not true. He's been very kind to me. He gave me that sketchbook, and he took care of me when I was... sick. And he helped me get my hair cut. And he sat with me at the court house so I would not be afraid. He didn't have to do those things, but he did, because he is a good person." Somehow listing these events, which she was positive happened, made her feel better about the entire situation. "It's only when I push him that he pushes back. And that makes sense, right? Who likes to be pushed around?"

"You really think you can push Flynn Rider around?"

She didn't _want_ to. It's not that she wanted to hurt him, or challenge him, or upset him. Actually she really wanted to make him happy. When he was happy, her entire world was brighter. Everything felt a little less difficult when he smiled at her. But she was a little offended that Dr. Jones persistently thought that Rapunzel was incapable of having any willpower or effect on her surroundings. "I think I can get him off balance, and he doesn't like that. He's not as wild as everyone thinks he is. He has his way of going about things and he likes to stick to it. Like a turtle. A turtle with a really flashy, fancy shell, so everybody is misled."

"...a turtle."

"Yes. And I all I wanted to do was pet him. But I ended up pushing too hard and he fell over on his back, you know, his legs all splayed, waving in the air," Rapunzel demonstrated a little, pawing at the air in front of her, "and he's uncomfortable and mad. I mean, I'd be mad if someone did that to me, too."

Rapunzel thought that was a great analogy, but Dr. Jones just sighed, looking at Rapunzel pityingly. Rapunzel hated that look. "Rapunzel..." Dr. Jones said slowly, carefully, as if it pained her to speak. "Honey, I wasn't there, I don't know what happened between you and Flynn, but I do know _him_. What you're dealing with right now is a hard thing for _anyone_to learn, even those of us who were in a social environment our entire lives. Sometimes, often, the simplest answer is the correct one. But as humans we tend to look at a situation and see only what we want to, moving memories and evidence around to suit our interests."

Rapunzel frowned, "You think I'm lying to you?"

"Not lying, no," Dr. Jones shook her head. "But I think you really want Flynn to love you - and I can understand that, we all want to be loved, it's one of our most basic needs - and you want this so much that you'll see anything but the truth, here."

Rapunzel was silent, wanting to cling to her assessment but rationally deferring to someone who knew more about Flynn, more about minds, and more about life than Rapunzel might ever.

"Sweetheart, what's more plausible? That Flynn is a turtle or that he is cruel?"

"I don't mean _literally_ a turtle..."

"I know what you mean."

Rapunzel swallowed. "You just don't think he could like me."

"I think any normal person would _love _you. I think Flynn's senses are defective."

Rapunzel disagreed - he had an amazing knack for reading people. He was so quick on his feet. He was so charismatic. But it seemed like she had to think something was wrong with _him_ or everything was wrong with _her_. And she didn't like either of those options. She wanted desperately to be lovable, and almost as desperately to be loved by Flynn.

Unbidden, tears choked her, bubbling up from her eyes more quickly than she could wipe them away, trickling down the sides of her cheeks. "I... I think I love him."

The pity in Dr. Jones's expression tripled. "Then you are doing Flynn Rider a much greater honor than he may ever deserve."

"I don't want to honor him," Rapunzel said around her racketed breaths. "I want to be with him."

"I know, sweetie. But unfortunately that's not a decision you can make alone. Have you heard the saying 'you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink'? In this case it means that you can give Flynn every chance to have a meaningful, intimate relationship with you but you can't make him take that chance. You can't even make him want to."

"You think he doesn't want me at all?"

"...I think Flynn has a history of womanizing. I think he has lied to you constantly since you've known him. I think you're a wonderful girl, and for that reason you are not his type."

Wonderful girl was poor consolation. How wonderful could she be if he didn't want her? Wonderful was meaningless to her if he didn't think so.

"But Rapunzel, I promise not all men will be this way. You just kind of... jumped into the deep end with men. But you are pretty, and smart, and fun, and kind, and I promise there will be plenty of nice young men who think so. Boys closer to your age, maybe."

Rapunzel thought about the boys her age she'd met. Sometimes they hung around the hotel lobby, or in the park where she liked to feed the birds. Sometimes they even looked at her, but it was never in a way she particularly liked. She always felt like she was being assessed in some way, and either it ended in them staring dumbly at her or saying something to their friends that evoked a lot of chuckles. Chuckles that felt hurtful and not funny at all. "I don't think I like boys my age."

"Do you really know any?"

Rapunzel shook her head . In fairness, she hadn't even really talked to any of them. She said excuse me on the train occasionally, and sometimes they moved to let her past but mostly they couldn't hear her over their earphones. Once a boy maybe a little older than she was got her a cabbage she couldn't reach at the market. He worked at the vegetable stall. That was nice of him. Maybe she should talk to him. But what would they talk about? With Flynn it was so easy. She said whatever was on her mind and he'd either have a response or just smile. It never felt like effort to talk to Flynn. What could she possibly say to cabbage boy?

"Why don't you try taking an art class? You love art. Or joining a rec team? You could meet other people your age. Rapunzel, Flynn is the only person you've ever connected with. He won't be the last. I know how much this hurts you, right now. But Flynn Rider is not the be-all and end-all of men."

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><p>When Rapunzel left the office, she checked her phone. Nothing. She hadn't heard from Flynn since their kiss. She hadn't reached out to him, either. If he didn't want her, she wasn't going to keep making a fool of herself.<p>

But she'd kept all of his old texts, and she read a few now, out of nostalgia, or maybe masochism. He'd sent them one week when she was having a particularly hard time, and he knew that she was dreading therapy and all it would dredge up.

Text received 12:06 pm: _Ice cream after shrink? My treat._

Text received 12:10 pm: _Come ooooon answer me in session. Jones'll be pissed._

She hadn't answered him because her ringer had been off, and she didn't check before returning to work. She'd regretted it so keenly then, and more so now. What if she'd seen? What if they'd gone? What if she hadn't pushed him? Would they have moved slower, but at least moved? Would she still have a friend to see every night? Or something more?

But then she remembered the icy way he'd shoved her from him after their first kiss, _her first kiss_. The cruel blandness on his face when he asked her if she got what she wanted from him. It cut through the haze of her happiness and stabbed straight through her heart. How could he have held her that way one moment, so tightly, and kissed her so thoroughly, so passionately, and the next push her away like she was nothing?

She pondered Jones's words and she wondered if they were true. And she wondered if it was really just Flynn's idea of entertainment. To be sweet to her, to be kind to her, and then to want nothing to do with her. Was he so jaded, so batted around by his life that this was what he did to amuse himself?

Rapunzel had spent too much of her life serving the sickness of another already. She was a free woman now. And maybe Flynn Rider wasn't the be-all, end-all of men, after all.

Text received 12:15 pm: _By the way, I saw a spotted squirrel outside the bakery this morning, and I thought of you._

But to Rapunzel, he was. He really was.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN - This chapter takes place between chapter 17 and 18 of _Freudian_.**

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><p>It was a balmy night. May. Rapunzel's first spring as a free woman. Her first spring as a woman at all. All her life she'd believed she'd be a child forever, that she was locked up in that house for one very good reason, and that if she held perfectly still, and stayed perfectly the same, her mother would be forever young and Rapunzel would be forever unchanged.<p>

Now she knew it was just bleach and a whole lot of mental illness.

Her nose wrinkled, and she knelt down to admire some daisies. "They're so pretty when they're alive..." she murmured, touching the stems gently. She thought of the half-wilted bouquets her mother had sometimes brought home, how the petals would fall one by one no matter how much Rapunzel sang to them. "Don't you think they're so pretty?"

She looked up, but Mike was looking at his reflection in the buffed metal surface of the playground slide. He didn't listen to her very much.

She sighed and got to her feet, walking over to him. Maybe if she addressed him directly, he'd respond. "What's your favorite flower?"

It took him a moment, but he finally turned towards her. "What? Oh. I dunno. They're all okay, I guess."

She frowned. He didn't have many opinions. In fact, sometimes talking to him was downright pulling teeth. It made her miss talking to Flynn even more. Flynn wasn't always the most talkative, but he answered her questions without seeming too bent out of shape about it, and he listened to her like he was actually interested. Jones wanted her to believe it was all an act, but now that she could compare with Mike's obviously feigned interest, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"Okay?" she asked, shaking her head. "They're amazing. I mean, they are so beautiful, and they exist only to feel the sun and drink water and make life and die and be reborn again by the pollen that the bees spread. Isn't that interesting? I think humans are kind of like that too, we just don't realize it. We just get so caught up in our lives that we forget that we're flowers."

Mike was giving her one of his most common looks. The 'I think you're insane but I would like to kiss you later so I'm not going to say anything' look. It was one of Rapunzel's least favorite expressions. In fact, she'd rather he just called her crazy and expressed his own thoughts on the matter, so they could talk about it and understand each other. She sighed and shrugged, reaching up to catch one of the monkey bars, swinging slightly.

"Talk more about the pollen part," he said with a smirk, reaching out to touch her bare sides where her shirt lifted as she hung.

She giggled a little, his fingers tickling. It felt nice, being touched by another person. It was strange, but thrilling. "What about it?"

"Well," he said, smirking up at her. "If we're flowers..." he leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth. She liked this part. His lips were soft. He smelled kind of nice, but it was strong. It wasn't like Flynn's subtle, clean smell. It stung the back of her throat if she was too close to Mike for a while, like standing in the candle store at the mall for too long.

Mike deepened the kiss, and Rapunzel wrinkled her nose a little, though she didn't pull away. She didn't like this part as much. She'd only shared one kiss with Flynn, but every kiss she'd had since then made her remember it with more and more longing and remorse. Mike's tongue was so... _wet_. It felt like there was more saliva between them than two people could possibly make. And his tongue was so floppy. It felt like when Rapunzel tried to eat too much pudding at once. Just this big... mass in her mouth, she couldn't even figure out how to swallow. And somehow the entire thing was lukewarm, almost clammy, like soup she'd let cool for too long before eating it. Congealed, somehow.

Still, someone was kissing her, and she guessed that was better than no one kissing her. At least it was a novel sensation, at least it was a new experience. At least someone liked her enough to _want_ to share this strange encounter with her. So, rather than react negatively and pull away, she let her mind wander to that kiss in the bar. Flynn had chastised her for trying to buy it, but really it had been the best one hundred crowns she'd ever spent.

It had been so... _hot_. There'd been nothing tepid about it. His mouth had burned hers, his soft lips contrasting with the firmness of his tongue, the surety of his movements. It had been a play between soft and hard, the tension of his neck and shoulders as he'd bent to press his mouth to hers, and the softness of his skin. Every stroke of his tongue against hers had been so deliberate, and behind her closed eyes she could almost see pleasure curling down her spine like the way smoke swirled from his cigarette when they stood together on the roof of the bar. His arms had been so tight around her, pulling her close, holding her like he was completely selfish and selflessly protecting her at the same time.

She moaned at the memory, letting go of the bar to run her hands over his chest. _Right_. Mike's chest. It wasn't fair to compare them. Flynn was much older than Mike. But still, Mike was so skinny, so lanky, there wasn't anywhere for her hands to find purchase, no intense spark between them, ready to ignite at any moment. The contrast left her cold, and she started to pull away, but Mike wrapped his arms around her, his hands roaming over her back in a way she didn't entirely like, in a way that was so much more like she was being felt up than held.

She felt something poke her face, and though she couldn't seem to pull her mouth away, she opened her eyes to see Pascal glowering at her, his tail ready to swipe again should she not cease this nonsense. Pascal didn't like Mike. He didn't like Flynn much, either, but he _really_ didn't like Mike. Every time she was doing anything physical with Mike, Pascal got very uppity, chattering, or running around and being distracting, or even bonking her lightly with his tail. Sometimes he even stood on Mike's head and made obscene gestures, which always made her laugh and that offended Mike.

She tried to ignore Pascal, but he persisted, making a strange squelching noise that made the clamminess of the kiss even more unpleasant. Groaning a little, and not out of pleasure, she finally wrenched her hands in between her and Mike and pushed, getting enough leverage to slip away. She covered it up by dancing a little, scrambling up the slide and jumping down from the platform playfully. It had grown dark, and she was feeling a little uneasy. Sometimes when she was alone with Mike, she felt anxious. He'd never really done anything to hurt her, she didn't get the sense he was a bad person, she just... she didn't always like the things they did and sometimes being with him made her desperately want to be alone.

She never felt that way when she was with Flynn. She always wanted to stay by him as long as possible, as long as he would let her. And every conversation they had made her happy or made her think in a productive way or both. And every touch they shared was beautiful and too brief. Sometimes, like when they were sitting together on the couch after she'd made him dinner, she didn't always feel_ safe_ with Flynn. But it wasn't because she was uneasy... more like she was excited, and thrilled, and caught off balance in a way that made her feel very alive.

Mike caught up with her, walking backwards in front of her and giving her an appraising smile. "Playing hard to get?"

She looked away, swerving onto a paved path through the park. "What does that mean?" The guys at the bar had mentioned it a few times but she'd never really known what they meant. She could 'sound it out,' if she tried. She could approach phrases like one would a new word, listening to each piece and then putting it together to find its meaning. But her brain was frazzled from the kissing and her stomach was unsettled and she didn't want to puzzle over anything for a while.

"It means you're pretending I can't have you," Mike said, smirking. "It means you're pretending I need to chase you, work harder, so I'll want you even more."

No, that wasn't what she was doing at all. What was the opposite? If she threw herself at him, would he get bored and leave her alone for a little while?

Mike stopped abruptly, and she ran into his chest and blushed. His hands landed on her hips and he pulled her flush up against him. "It's working," he murmured.

Pascal hissed at him, and she frowned, swallowing. A sweet, sick taste kept rising in her mouth. "Oh, really?"

He nodded, pulling her over to a bench under a willow tree with many low branches, giving the area a semblance of privacy that she really didn't like. It was already dark, and on the bench she could only just see the street lights through the leaves. They felt so far away. It was quieter there somehow, her breathing felt so loud. His breathing was even louder, damp and urgent. His hands pushed her back on the bench and she thought of this one time when her mother had come home angry and acting oddly, using words Rapunzel didn't understand, tripping over things. Rapunzel had hid in the closet where they kept the bleach, shelves and shelves of bleach. She hated that smell, but she'd been in a hurry to hide. There'd been no point hiding, there were only so many places in the house to go, and her mother had known them all. But hiding made her feel like she had a choice, if only for a moment. Her breathing had been so loud in those long, dark moments. She'd covered her mouth, listening to the heavy creak of footsteps, waiting for the door to be thrown open, for what came next.

Rapunzel let out a strangled, desperate moan, her legs twitching, trying to run. Mike was smaller than Flynn but he was heavy enough, and she was stuck, the cold metal of the bench pressing into her back through her sweatshirt and her t-shirt under that. Pascal crept onto the back of Mike's neck and bit, but Mike didn't seem to notice or care, he kept shoving his thick, floppy tongue into her mouth. One of his hands inched under her shirt and she froze, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity and fear and anticipation gripping her, binding her still.

His hand was sweaty, fumbling across her belly and over her ribs and up, settling on her breast. For a brief moment it was almost a pleasant feeling, but then he squeezed, harder than she supposed she should be squeezed there, because her eyes widened and teared up a little and she yelped.

At that moment a light swept over them, and a gruff voice barked. "Hey! What are you kids doing here?"

Mike leapt off of her, shoving his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. She sat up slowly, shaking a little bit, as Pascal came to curl up on her shoulder and nuzzle against her neck. It felt like there was still a weight on her chest, and she placed her palm where her heart was, wincing slightly at the strange, uncomfortable ache.

She finally looked up to see a slightly overweight cop, shaking his head at them. "Park's been closed since dusk. You know that, Penderson," he fixed Mike with a glare. "How many times do I have to smoke you out of here? I've had it. This time, you're coming in. Both of you." He gestured for them to follow to where his car was parked near the perimeter of the park.

Mike tried to talk back, but the cop would have none of it, and Rapunzel numbly got to her feet.

"C'mon man," Mike whined, slouching. "Can't we have a little fun? We weren't hurting anyone."

Pascal hissed at him and Rapunzel stroked his scaly neck. "Shh, Pascal. It's okay."

"Stop," Mike said to her under his breath. "You're going to freak him out."

"He's already freaked out," Rapunzel said crossly. "He doesn't like you and he's agitated."

"A cop? Not like me? Ya think?" Mike crossed his arms over his chest.

Oh, she thought they were talking about Pascal. Mike never talked about Pascal. It was very strange.

"Alright, get in," the cop said, opening the back door. Rapunzel took one look at the cage-like window separating the front from the back and nearly barfed right onto the officer's pressed uniform. Not this _again_.

"Are you shitting me?" Mike whined. "You're taking us in for _trespassing?_ Can you even _do that?_"

Flynn would know if that was allowed. And he'd know how to get out of it. He'd hold her hand and tell her how to handle this. Or not, not at all. She just wanted him to, she just wished for him.

"Quit testing me, you little shit. I say get in the car, you get in the car. _Get in_."

Oh, there it was. Rapunzel's stomach gave a mighty heave and she threw up. She narrowly missed the officer's shirt, but it did get all over his shiny black shoes.

"What the!" the cop cursed, stepping back. "God damn it! What was that? What are you on? Damn it, Penderson, what did you give her?"

"Nothing!" Mike snapped. "She just does that sometimes!"

It was true, she did do that. She'd met Mike through community service, and her first day she'd thrown up, too. She'd been very nervous.

The cop groaned, shaking his foot as if that would get the vomit off. It didn't really work at all. "Just get in, both of you. I don't have time for this crap. They don't pay me enough to deal with teenagers. This is the last straw. I'm making you pay for this one, Penderson. Damn it to hell."

He continued to grumble while Mike copped and attitude all the way into the car. Rapunzel was pushed gently in after him, and she leaned forward and let her head fall into her hands. Maybe if she shut it all out she could pretend she wasn't locked up, she could ignore where they were going. She could imagine the hesitant hand on her back was Flynn's, and he was taking her home. Somewhere she'd never been.


End file.
